Alohomocha, just past 2 PM.

It was a miserable sort of Saturday.  The rain beat a steady rhythm on the cobblestones outside, and the few figures who had braved the foulness to make a weekend excursion to Diagon Alley skirted from puddle to puddle, clutching desperately at umbrellas to shield themselves from the unyielding weather.  Through the glass of the windowpanes, they were little more than dark, wavering blurs, as if someone had seen fit to plunge the entire outside world underwater.

Akiva had taken Gabriel to her parents' home that morning, and as much as Raizel would never admit it to her friend, it had been a blessed relief to be free from responsibility for the day.  She liked Akiva, wanted to do her best to help, but after so many years mostly spent traveling alone, the nearly constant company was becoming overwhelming.  And so, at the first hint of the suggestion that she might be on her own for the day, Raizel had seized the opportunity and fled from the house, for once even willing to brave the chill and the rain in order to spend a few hours alone.

She'd found this place by chance a few weeks ago.  The magical coffee shop was something of an escape from Muggle London; it was a refuge from the constant clacking of computer keys and the worry that someone was going to take too much interest in one of her less-than-mundane books.  Raizel had grabbed a table by the window where she could watch the rain outside, watch the muddled figures as they hurried by, as the pooling water against the glass set their shapes dancing.

Raizel couldn't really say why she was interested in this at all to begin with.  There were other urgent mysteries to deal with, other puzzles to solve, but somehow she couldn't shake the memory of the strange symbol carved into the wood, just above the numbers: 27-1-44.  It was as if it were supposed to mean something; as if she'd known the meaning once, long, long ago, and had simply forgotten as time had worn on.  Maybe that was what was bothering her: the sense that she ought to know this, but didn't.  There was nothing more endlessly aggravating than a mystery that she couldn't solve.

And so she sat, alone at the little table.  A collection of books and scrolls were spread all around her: For the Greater Good: The Liberation of Magical Europe.  A History of Magical Symbology.  1945: The World At War.  It was a rare opportunity to read, and Raizel did so intently, lost in the words, only occasionally remembering to sip at the eponymous hot, chocolately beverage that was luckily enchanted to stay warm for far long after it should have grown cold.

It was days like today that Jacoba found herself particularly tempted to finally accept, and embrace, whatever magical capabilities she possessed.  Doing so would, at the very least, eliminate all the standing around in the rain, waiting for someone to pass through the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley.  There were still very few who knew Jacoba wasn't quite as muggle as most believed and the young woman was, still, reluctant to change that.  The reasons may be mostly illogical but that did that didn't make them any less persistent. 

Still dripping and chilled, Jacoba weaved through the tables towards an empty table nestled in the corner between the windows and the blessedly warm fireplace.  She set the cup of coffee down and started unzipping her wet, cold raincoat.  Of course, any attempt to dislodge the cold, wet thing from her back resulted in a shaking loose a shower of thick water droplets and the young woman seated at the table behind her had a wide array of books and other paper-based items laid across the table.  Though Jacoba was usually tried to offer discretion by turning her attention away from their work, turning towards the woman was the only way to prevent a partial soaking.

Of course, drying and warming charms could solve this whole dilemma easily enough.  But,...

"Excuse me," Jacoba offered, with an apologetic grimace as she freed herself from the jacket.  As she turned to drape the wet coat over the chair closest to the fire, one of the book titles caught her attention.  There was a time and place, not too long ago, where the information tidbits in the title would hardly registered.  But, that had been the biergartens around the University of Munich.  Half of her social group had been fellow history students.  And, the books certainly hadn't eluded to magic. 

"I wasn't intending to be nosy," Jacoba offered.  Again, back in Munich with another history student, Jacoba would have simply bought the woman a beer and settled in for a long discussion.  "I'm a history student.  At least, I used to be.  I couldn't help but be curious.  May I?"  She gestured towards the books. 

Patrons came and went around her, dripping from the trials of the weather outside, but Raizel paid them little mind as she turned to a new page in her book.  For all that the last terrible dark wizard rarely seemed far from the thoughts of the people here in Britain, they paid very little mind to the evils that had gone before.  Gellert Grindelwald had ravaged continental Europe for nearly ten years.  Scores of mages and Muggles alike had lost their lives during his reign of terror, and yet here in the United Kingdom, the entire event seemed barely a footnote to history: a distant, raging war that had touched their shores only briefly when a great hero had marched forward to meet Grindelwald in battle.

It was a horrible, tragic time in history, and not one that she particularly liked to revisit -- but there was something enticing about it all the same.  As a child, Raizel had been fascinated by the stories from that time; both the rise and fall of Grindelwald and the backdrop of the Second War were subjects well-covered at Beit Gaddol.  She had gone through a period in her time there when she had read about them endlessly -- which was one reason why it was so aggravating that even though she felt like she ought to remember the strange symbol, for the life of her, she couldn't remember where she had seen it before.

It was an endless, merciless cycle.  She turned page after page, scanning over words that it felt like she'd read half a dozen times already, looking for anything that might jostle her memory.  When the new voice came in, it was unexpected enough to startle her out of her thoughts.

"Excuse me."

The Cursebreaker started, glancing up sharply.  Brows knitting, she studied the tall young woman in front of her.  Years of working at Gringotts had drilled her to be protective of research that she might be doing, but there was nothing forbidden or secretive here; she'd never have brought it to a coffee shop otherwise.  She considered for half a second longer, and then gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Yeh.  Of course; go ahead."  She gave a brief nod, granting permission, but her eyes hadn't left the girl.  A history student was an odd way to classify herself.  This witch looked too old to be in attendance at Hogwarts, and as far as Raizel knew, there weren't any institutes of higher magical education here in Britain.  Had she taken Magical History while she was still in school?

"Where did you study history?" she asked her with a frown.  There was a slight accent there that was different from the British standard -- maybe she wasn't a graduate of Hogwarts at all.  "You were interested in Grindelwald?"

There was a beat.  A moment of surprise in the other woman as she looked up.  Jacoba offered a small, calm smile and was starting to consider a way to back out of the situation as suavely as possible when the woman relaxed and offered an invitation.  Jacoba reached for The Common Good first, it's title most blatantly revealing it possessed the information that had most grabbed her attention: the magical aspect of the second world war. 

The book held turned over in one hand, Jacoba read the back summary as she pulled a chair out from her table and took a seat, shifting just enough so she was more than half facing the other woman without outright planting herself at the stranger's table. 

"Where did you study history?"

It was Jacoba's turn to appear momentarily guarded as she considered the question, chancing a quick glance around the coffee shop to check for any familiar and helpful faces, should it come to that.  The extreme purists were, usually, easy to recognize.  They generally wore robes that left no ambiguity to their magical status.  They preferred darker-hued fabrics and moved with an obvious haughty demeanor.  Most of the time.  But, not all of the time.  The woman's appearance was, of course, no guarantee for safety but her choice of reading material suggested she was unlikely to be completely close-minded. 

"In Munich."  Still, out of habit, Jacoba answered vaguely, at first. 

Had Jacoba heard mention of Grindelwald?  Was it the name of a wizard she was supposed to know?  She'd been actively working to familiarize herself with the wizarding world as much as possible but, if it was a name she'd come across before, it had been lost in the wave of new information she'd learned over the last year. 

Was there any she could answer that without rendering her attempts to remain discrete pointless?  Cautiously, Jacoba shook her head.  "I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with-"  -it?  -him?  Was it a wizard?  "I presume you aren't meaning the town?  Grindelwald?  In Switzerland?  The country was ... interesting in its neutrality, but I'm not aware of anything exceptional occurring in that town." 

With a slight sigh, Jacoba took a sip of her coffee and looked down at the book in her hands.  "I'm definitely curious, though?  Was he a wizard who fought in the war?"

Raizel regarded the girl with a slight frown, her brows knit as she tried to puzzle through her answer.  In Munich.  It wasn't that she knew every institution of magical education in Europe, but she'd never heard of any sort of school there.  Maybe it was some small thinktank, or maybe this witch had breached the annals of history on her own, outside of a school.  But as the young woman kept talking -- something about a small town, and about Switzerland -- Raizel's eyebrows rose higher and higher to her forehead.

"Did he fight in the war?" she echoed, disbelief heavy in her words.  Where had this girl studied history?  Certainly it hadn't been magical history, not if she'd gone to school in Munich.  Raizel could almost, almost picture a British witch whose education regarding the Great War was completely lacking, but she couldn't imagine that anyone from Continental Europe could grow up with such a major gap in their knowledge.  Even now, over half a century after his defeat, families there still felt the impact of Grindelwald's rise and reign.

"He was the war.  The magical war, anyhow."  Still frowning, she regarded the young woman more seriously.  Had she been lying about studying history?  But what point would there be to a lie like that?  It certainly didn't benefit her at all, and nothing about her seemed like a threat; clearly, something was amiss here, and Raizel was lacking the pieces to determine exactly what.

"What sort of history did you study?" she asked, eyeing her warily.  "You haven't heard anything about Grindelwald before?"

"Magical war?  I thought that was-"  Before she could dig her hole any deeper, Jacoba closed her mouth and shook her head. 

Jacoba's gaze flickered away from the woman across from her and traveled over the books on the table and in her hand.  The more confused questions the woman across from her asked, the more convinced Jacoba was that she hadn't yet come across the name.  There was no way to hide her cluelessness and her options seemed limited: she could either tell the truth or come across as a completely uneducated dolt. 

Pride had to be humanity's biggest hurdle to harmony and self-preservation.

Though Jacoba opted for honesty, she did so with a clear and firm knowledge of her escape plan should it be met with a less than friendly response.  "I'm afraid not," she admitted, looking up from the books.  "If I have, it was only in brief passing.  Nothing that I remember."  She liked to think a wizarding war around the time of the second world war was the type of thing she'd make an effort to remember. 

"Modern European history.  Primarily with an emphasis on World War II.  But, it was at the University of Munich.  I've only had a muggle education.  I've been trying to self-educate here, but this - he hasn't surfaced, yet.  So, this is different than the war a decade ago?"  That one, of course, she knew about.  Between her own integration into the wizarding world and working around Dennis Creevey and others at Reducto, it was practically unavoidable. 

"There was a wizarding war going on at the same time?"  Why was that so difficult to wrap her brain around? 

A witch with only a Muggle education?  Raizel's eyebrows rose, and she gave the girl an even more curious look.  That was either so conservative or so liberal, it was unheard of.  She'd had schoolmates who were the other way around -- students from pureblood families who avoided anything Muggle -- but even that was rare in Israel.  Public and private life were so interwoven, and every family had been touched by strife in the magical and mundane worlds alike that it was impossible to withdraw completely.  The scattered few strict isolationists purists had all come from Europe. Conservative Jewish mages were normally concerned about separating from other things.

It was a fascinating thought, and it could have led to a whole other line of questions.  How could this young woman survive at all if she'd never had a magical education?  Did she even know how to cast a spell or use a wand?  But she was here, in the Leaky Cauldron -- had her parents withdrawn her from school for some reason?  Or never allowed her to attend?  Raizel would have pursued the line of questioning further, but the girl had already moved on, and so she held off for the moment, resigned to wait for another opening.

"Yeh," she said, doing her best not to sound disdainful.  "It's a different war."  Every war meant something to someone, whether it lasted six days or several years. Raizel knew that as a fact.  Even so, the way that British witches and wizards tended to tout their war as if it was the only one that had ever mattered -- the only one that had ever happened in the past decade and a half -- annoyed her to no end.  It had been bad, certainly: she would never undervalue the experiences of those who had gone through it, especially now that she counted people like Akiva Eleor and Jonas Trevelyan among her friends, but it had not been the worst, and it had certainly not been the only.

And now here she was, trying to relate the severity of the others to this strange witch who had only been educated as a Muggle.

"Grindelwald.  He --"  She paused, and then relented, giving a brisk nod.  "Yeh.  It was the same time as the Second World War.  He was a wizard from Hungary -- he wanted to rule over Muggles, to rule over everyone, so he raised an army, and started to take over Europe.  A lot of people died."  She met the young woman's gaze, her jaw set.  "It wasn't a good time, whether you were a Muggle or a mage."

It was easy to understand the woman's frustration and, rather than annoyance, Jacoba met it with an apologetic grimace.  Even with what little she'd thus far conveyed, it was obvious this was a significant piece of wizarding history.  Her brother probably would have been even less subtle in his disapproval of Jacoba's ignorance. 

But, that was the trouble with history.  Two generations seemed to be about the threshold for events to remain a part of the immediate, daily consciousness.  Those amongst them that remembered the British wizarding war ten years ago were plentiful.  One didn't have to venture far into the daily routine to encounter reference to it.  The more that survivors faded from their company, the more the events faded into memories on a page.  World War II was still relatively bright in the consciousness of Jacoba's contemporaries but it was difficult to find someone who considered the Boer War during the course of their daily lives without prompting.  Or, even, the first World War. 
 
"Hungary?"  That that bit of information stood out was merely a side product of trying to quickly process significant amounts of information rather than an indication of its significance.  "So, there'd been two wars going on?  During... Was it simply coincidence?  Or, did this Grindelwald take advantage of the confusion of the Muggle war?  Or, were they actually connected?" 

Jacoba's brow furrowed as she tried to fit the bits of information into the already pre-formed image of her own understanding of the 30s and 40s.  Her tone grew slightly monotone as she reasoned her way through the information out loud.  "So, Grindelwald was seeking the same thing NS-Deutschland was and Hungary was part of the Axis.  Was he one of the Axis' allies?  No...I can't imagine ... the regime couldn't have known about it.  Hitler didn't really share power well.  And, there would have had to have been a massive coverup afterwards.  Especially since I never heard of it."  That seemed unlikely.  With so many high ranking party members in her family tree, it seemed difficult for her to imagine magic would have come as such a surprise to her parents. 

"Well, a war devastated Europe would have been relatively easy to finish off?"  After a quick bit of reasoning, strategy wise that seemed the logical explanation.

Goodness.  You learned something new everyday but usually not something of that significance.  Jacoba took a sip of her coffee.

However she had been expecting to spend her morning, a sudden conversation of this caliber hadn't been part of Raizel's expectations.  She had listened silently, her brows knitting as she tried to simultaneously parse through the English and take stock of what this girl was saying.  But at the comment about the massive coverup -- Raizel gave a laugh, flashing the other woman a bright smile.  Mere moments before, the girl hadn't even heard of Grindelwald; now apparently his role in the war was limited by the fact that he'd never bothered to creep into her notice.

"That is all it takes for a cover-up to be impossible?  That you don't know about it?" she teased, smiling broadly.  "You should go talk to a Muggle.  Ask them whether or not there could be mages hiding in their midst."

But it was all in good fun.  She rolled her shoulders in an easy shrug, nominally to dispel any tension from the teasing.  If there was one thing that her time as a Cursebreaker had taught her, it was that the world still held plenty of secrets.  Mages and witches and wizards forgot that too easily, sometimes.  They spent so much time on the inside of the great conspiracy that it was hard to imagine what life must be like for those who weren't.

It was funny that this girl, with her Muggle education and her decidedly Muggle clothes, didn't put herself in their shoes.  But she was young, and Raizel knew firsthand how easy it was to be taken with one's own cleverness.  Either way, she had decided quickly that she wouldn't hold it against her.  The young witch was curious and she seemed to want to learn, and it had been a long time since Raizel had been able to speculate theoretically over anything besides curses and crimes and magic.

"I think that you are at least a little right, though," she said, sobering.  "About the war, I mean."  Her expression was serious as she nodded to the book in Jacoba's hands.  "There were a lot of bad things happening all at once, and that made everything worse.  I know that the mages from the my school, there was so much that they could have tried to do that a lot of them panicked and did very little.  And most of the wizards here in England refused to get involved until it was almost too late."  The last words had come out sounding a little bitter.  Raizel tilted her head to the side, giving the other young woman an evaluating look.  "You know about the Muggle side of the war?"

"Well, that wasn't what I intended to imply." 

Jacoba returned the broad grin, shrugging her shoulders and generally accepting the good-natured teasing for what it was.  But, when presented with the recommendation of asking a muggle, her grin faltered.  Jacoba lifted her coffee cup and took a sip. 

The young German was, typically, not one to use avoidance as a first-choice tactic for solving problems.  She was far too impulsive for that - for better or worse.  She left the burying one's head in the sand to her brother.  She'd been almost completely ignoring the question of her magical identity.  She wasn't, technically, a muggle.   She understood that.  But she still hadn't quite reconciled what that meant on a bigger level.  Perhaps it was insecurity or, simply, naivety. 

About the war.  The War.  Jacoba closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head.  Though it was still a bit confusing, it was starting to seem progressively less relevant whether these had been two separate wars or one big war.  It felt like trying to debate whether oil slicked across the surface of water was one large spill or two separate ones; once they bled together and covered the surface of everything, it no longer mattered.  "You didn't go to Hogwarts?" Jacoba asked, glancing curiously at the woman. 

"You know about the Muggle side of the war?"

"Of course."  Perhaps, it wasn't that obvious.  Jacoba rubbed her face with her hand.  "I went to muggle school and university in Germany.  I spent a lot of time scouring history for relatives I could be proud of.  It was -" so far, fruitless.  "I've learned a considerable bit in the process, though.  My family was pretty ... involved.  And, opinionated about matters like this."  In matters like magic. 

Jacoba surveyed the books scattered across the table, then back up at the woman.  The witch wasn't old, certainly, but clearly beyond school-aged.  And, she clearly had some understanding about the historical information.  "May I ask, is this some casual light reading?" She asked, lightly, trying to temper the gravity of the conversation again.

Hogwarts?  Of all the things in the world that she might possibly be thought to be, she had never been taken for a Hogwarts graduate before.  Raizel made a noise that was halfway between a snort and a laugh, shaking her head good-naturedly. 

"Do I sound British?" she asked bemusedly.  For all that this girl didn't sound British, that was a very British thing to think.  Raizel flashed a smile, which was quickly accentuated by a fluttering wave of her hand.  "No, I didn't go to Hogwarts.  I went to Beit Gaddol -- it is in Israel.  Not Muggle," she added firmly, just in case there was any doubt.  "Not that Muggle is bad, but Beit Gaddol isn't."

Satisfied that they had cleared that up, Raizel paused, her expression sobering as she considered the other woman's words.  Germany...  Her eyes quickly flicked to Jacoba's face, and she studied her expression intently.  In the context of history, it wasn't hard to presume what might have prompted her search for something beyond involved and opinionated relatives.  But that was history, and for now, Raizel dismissed it with a roll of her shoulders. 

"May I ask, is this some casual light reading?"

A hesitant frown crossed the mage's face, and she studied Jacoba for a moment.  Being open about her interests was not something that came naturally; too many years as a Cursebreaker and enjoying less-than-legal professions had seen to that.  But this was not necessarily something that she had to hide.  Besides, many of the photographs in the old man's wallet had been static instead of magical.  If this funny Muggle-educated witch knew something about the Second War from a Muggle perspective, she might even be able to help. 

"No.  Not really," she said, giving a quick shake of her head.  Her dark eyes met Jacoba's, inquisitive and searching.  "It is...you could call it private research, I think."  She paused, pressing her lips together briefly, and then boldly surged ahead.  "Do you read the Daily Prophet much?  There was an old man who was killed last week, at the Three Broomsticks -- did you hear about it?"

"You never know!"  By and large, Jacoba's quipped response matched the other woman's good-natured ribbing.  "I've come across a few non-British sounding Hogwarts students."  Not many, granted.  But, enough to keep the concept from being a complete impossibility. 

Grinning, Jacoba offered a conciliatory shrug.  "But, I confess my assumption had less to do with your accent and more ..."  Despite the light hearted overtones, a little kernel of guilt was starting to settle in and fester in the back of her mind.  Passively avoiding the topic of her blood status (or, self-identified blood status, at least) was one thing.   It didn't really count as lying until she was actively denying or pretending  "I'm afraid I'm still rather unfamiliar with the various wizarding schools out there." 

Beit Gaddol.  At least the woman's Alma Mater wasn't entirely foreign.  "Surprisingly, I have heard of that one!" Jacoba admitted, taking a sip of coffee.   

Jacoba turned back to the small collection of books, listening to the woman across from her.  Private research?  She did remember the Prophet article though she hadn't given it more than a passing thought.  "I did.  Or, just skimmed it, at least.  It was sad, but I don't remember much standing out about it."  And, what answers would she be seeking in a collection of texts about the second World War and this Grindelwald fellow?  Admittedly, Jacoba had only skimmed the article in passing during one of her breaks at the record shop.  Truth was, Grindelwald's name could have been in the article and she'd have just as easily overlooked it then as she almost had now. 

The article had done little more than garner an hour or two of casual speculation and tale weaving by some of the shop's younger or more melodramatic staff but Jacoba had ignored most of it. 

"I'm sorry.  I didn't give it much thought at the time.  You think either he, or his murder, was connected to the wars?  War?" 

Raizel flashed the girl a bright smile at her acknowledgement of Beit Gaddol; it was a point for this strange Muggle-educated witch, surely.  But soon, they were back on the subject of the old man's death, which the young woman did not seem to have really taken notice of.

Not that Raizel could particularly blame her.  Based on how the article was written and what the Auror had said, a cursory glance would have left her with the impression that the event had been only slightly out of the ordinary. 

"I...don't know if I would say that," she said cautiously, frowning.  Sharing even this much still felt unnatural, but she kept a wary eye on the girl as she carefully felt out her next words.  "I was there when he died, in the Three Broomsticks.  And the creature that killed him, it wasn't a Dementor.  And the newspaper said that he was involved in the war, so..."

She gave an easy shrug, her gaze leaving Jacoba as she reached for the book that the young woman had taken earlier.  Tugging it towards her, she began flipping through the pages: several had been dog-eared, as if to mark the place.  Before long, she found what she had been looking for, smoothing the page out carefully.

Photo provided by H. Harrison

...Grindelwald's forces were not restricted to only those wizards that he had chose to ally with before 1939.  Once his hold on power was secure, he began actively recruiting throughout Europe.   Ambitious young men as far afield as England, Spain, Scandinavia, and even Russia were drawn in, lured by his promises of a more perfect society where they would not be hindered by the Statute of Secrecy. At the start of the effort, even blood status was not a hindrance to new recruits.  Known Muggle-born wizards, such as the German Count Otto Waldgraf III, Russian Dmitry Voronov and the English-born Hector Harrison, were accepted without reproach, though in later days, Grindelwald would grow far more suspicious of their loyalty.  (Perhaps an irony, due to the fact that Harrison's loyalty was very much in question, even in the early days: see page 451 for more on The Final Fall of Grindelwald.) In the beginning, before they were hindered by their beloved leader's growing paranoia, the wide mix of new recruits was one of the fledgling army's greatest assets.  With mastery over several languages and knowledge of both the magical and mundane worlds, they were able to move freely between both, accounting for a great deal of their early success...

It was one of the same photographs that she and Bethan had found in the old man's wallet when he had died.  Raizel had not considered it closely then, save to note that it was one of the few magical ones in the bunch.  She'd noticed the young men, the Muggle clothing, even the odd Muggle guns that seemed so out of place in an enchanted picture -- but now, examining it more carefully, she had seen hints of more.  The odd Grindelwald symbol.  The marks of the Muggle German army, too.  It was not a nice photograph, and yet for some reason, Hector Harrison had seen fit to not only allow it to be published in this book, but to carry it with him until he'd met his final demise.

"You see?" she asked, sliding the book towards Jacoba so that the other woman could examine the photograph for herself.  "It seemed like a place to start learning about him, yeh?  The book talks about him more later on, and his pictures are all throughout it."

Jacoba watched with casual curiosity as the woman across from her started flipping through the book.  As she watched, Jacoba's mind drifted back to the article, trying to recall anything else from it.  But, nothing stood out.  In fact, from what Jacoba could recollect, there wasn't much in the article to even suggest there was anything suspicious about the death.  Other than the glaring context clues of a guy randomly dying in the pub. 

She took another sip of coffee as Raizel nudged the book back towards her, her gaze naturally drifting towards the picture first.  "Wait a minute."  Jacoba set her coffee to the side and pulled the book closer.  "He looks someone I recognize."  Jacoba drummed her finger against the picture twice, glancing up at Raizel and then back down at the picture. "Not that it's possible.  They probably just look strangely-"  By then, Jacoba's eyes had moved from the picture to the text surrounding it.  She read the paragraphs three times, looked up at Raizel and shook her head, looking completely baffled. 

"This isn't possible.  There has to be some mistake.  Maybe - would they have somehow mistaken muggles as muggleborns?  Maybe this Grindelwald was recruiting from within the Wehrmacht.  Officers for strategic purposes?"

Belatedly, Jacoba realized she was likely, again. sounding like she was blindly asserting facts based on the limitations of her personal knowledge.  In this case, though, it had to be true! 

Jacoba swiveled the book so it was right side up to Raizel but kept it closer to her side of the table. Again, she tapped her finger against the photo, casting a quick glance around to ensure none of their neighbors were showing unwelcome interest in their conversation.  "This man.  The one in the uniform - I know him.  Count Waldgraf. My half-brother is the only non-muggle in my family.  And, he got his talents from..." 

Though, except for her.  Had there been other muggleborns in her family?  Had anyone known about it?

The other young woman seemed suitably interested in Raizel's story and in the photograph -- but not, the mage realized an instant later, in the figure that she'd meant to point out to her.  Raizel blinked, her expression bewildered as she tried to make sense of the sudden rush of thoughts.

"You think someone in that photograph is a Muggle?" she asked, visibly confused.  The man in the uniform -- she looked down at the photograph.  Yes, there he was, right in front of the man that she knew was Hector Harrison.  If she squinted, she could almost make out what might have been a wand tucked against his chest -- but could have been just a trick of the light.

The young woman's bewilderment didn't make much sense.  Neither did all of her words:  "...the only non-Muggle..."  Surely that should have been the only other non-Muggle?  But then, English was not the most precise of languages, for all of its definite and indefinite articles.  She was confused because she and her half-brother were the first witch and wizard in their family; that, at least, might explain her strange education.  But if she was confused over that, then that meant that the man in the picture...

"Grindelwald didn't recruit Muggles," Raizel informed Jacoba with a frown.  That much, she was certain of.  That truth had been seared deep into the fabric of Europe, and the edges of it burned into several other continents besides. "That was the opposite of what he wanted -- he argued that wizards and mages should dominate them, that it was for the greater good.  Maybe --"  Her eyes flicked down to the book, studying it intently, and then back to Jacoba again.

"You think that's someone in your family?" she asked uncertainly.  She still wasn't sure that she'd entirely followed the other woman's train of thought.  Raizel gave a shrug, her mouth pressed tightly closed, but her gaze was still uneasy.  "Sometimes it takes a generation or two for magic to show up.  That was a long time ago, yeh?" she asked, tapping at the still-moving photograph.  "Maybe the rest of his family just didn't know."